Deutschlandlied
by PrinceofElsinore
Summary: The German brothers have grown apart during the years of Nazi rule, so what is Gilbert planning when he pays a late-night visit to his brother? What secret is he hiding, and what will the consequences be if he is discovered? [On indefinite hiatus]
1. The Night Before

_So... this is an idea I've had for quite some time. Ultimately, I would like to span approximately 200 years of German history (Lud and Gil-centric); this just happened to be the first chapter that I was inspired to write. Eventually I hope that the full work, entitled "Deutschlandlied" ("Song of Germany," the German national anthem), will have about six parts, with this being the first chapter of part 4. So, I am starting in the middle, but other parts will follow, meaning it will not all be angsty Nazi Germany. But there will be plenty of that. That is, if I decide to keep up with the series. Chapter two will be up soon, and I am starting work on chapter 3, but reviews are what motivate me! So please please please, review!_

_Also, just to get this out of the way: YES, this story includes Nazi characters. NO I do not in ANY way support Nazi ideals. My goal is to present an interpretation of past events that may shed a bit of light on what the nations involved were going through and what motivated them, both the good and the bad. I will try my best to be as historically accurate and honest as possible (with "artistic liberties" of course), and to account as much as possible for the multi-faceted complexities of historical analysis. You do not have to agree with these interpretations, and if you'd like to have a civil discussion about history, I'm open to that, but please don't flame. This is not meant to be offensive to anybody._

_Warnings: sexual references, namely YAOI-GAY-GUY ON GUY, also incest. A bit of strong language, and history!_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia characters belong to Himaruya._

The Night Before

July 19, 1944, 11:55 pm

The Wolf's Lair, East Prussia

God. West would kill him if he knew what he was planning to do tomorrow.

The Prussian swallowed hard and forced his feet to continue moving forward. The heels of his black, knee-high boots clicked against the cold concrete floor and echoed through the deserted hallways, ominous in Prussia's ears. What would he say if he ran into someone? What excuse did he have for lurking about, this late at night? What excuse did he have for even coming to this bunker in the first place?

The albino stuck a black-gloved finger into his collar and tugged a bit, trying to loosen the tie constricting his windpipe. The finger moved down to the cross of iron around his neck and lingered there a moment.

Hot doubt clouded his mind. What was he doing? This was madness! His cross was his duty to his country—was he violating that? But no, he had been over this before, it had to be done before that maniac drove his country over the edge… but that was tomorrow. Tonight… what about _this_? Was this right? It certainly wasn't smart, Prussia knew. One wrong step, one wrong word, and it was over. _He _was over. But he needed this. What did it matter if it was right or wrong—he might be dead tomorrow! He wouldn't get another chance. If he succeeded tomorrow, his brother would be devastated. If he failed… well, he preferred not to think about that.

Prussia stopped. His feet had carried him to Germany's quarters as if of their own volition. Warm light seeped from under the heavy wooden door, illuminating the shiny toes of Prussia's boots in a thin strip. At least West was still awake. Prussia inhaled deeply through his nostrils, held his breath, and raised a fist to rap on the door.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Prussia lowered his fist, still holding his breath. He heard the faint shuffle of cloth and paper somewhere on the other side of the door, then padded footsteps approaching. The strip of light beneath the door was suddenly partially obscured; a latch clicked open; a lock turned; the door inched open until there was a wide enough gap for a face to peer out. Germany.

The younger man's stern features quickly morphed to surprise when he saw his older brother standing before his door, which he opened a little wider.

Prussia wanted to say something, but he still couldn't breathe. All he could do was stare at the German, who was wearing his reading glasses and a long bathrobe—without a shirt underneath, Prussia noted before the blonde instinctively pulled the robe front together, tightening the belt hastily.

"Prussia?" Germany questioned in his rich baritone, feathery blond eyebrows hitching together in a bemused stare.

"West!" Prussia forced out, finally remembering how to exhale. It sounded strained to his ears, and apparently to his brother's as well, for his bewilderment only turned to concern.

Germany opened the door a bit wider still, resting one hand on the doorframe.

"Uh…" He glanced over his shoulder, then back at the Prussian, who, if possible, looked even paler than usual, a light film of sweat glistening on his forehead in the lamplight from the room. "Would you like to come in?" Germany asked apprehensively, but politely.

"Of course!" exclaimed Prussia, regaining some of his usual swagger as he pushed the door aside and brushed past his brother. Germany was slightly peeved at this lack of propriety but he closed the door calmly, locked it out of habit, and turned to the man who now stood uncertainly in the center of the parlor-like room.

Prussia's eyes swept warily over the papers scattered on the coffee table by the sofa. If he could just sneak a look…

His thoughts were cut off when Germany, as if sensing Prussia's thoughts, quickly shuffled the papers together and stuffed them away in a drawer of the desk that occupied a corner of the small room.

Prussia sighed inwardly. That wasn't why he was here anyways. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the task at hand.

The albino flopped down on the sofa and the blonde turned to him, a slight scowl on his face.

"Please, do make yourself at home, _bruder_," he drawled, exasperated with his elder brother's manners. Couldn't he find it in himself to show some respect when it was so rare that they spoke face to face, especially alone? Not to mention that it was the middle of the night, and the German had been looking forward to finally finishing his paperwork and then getting some sleep before an early morning. Yet he had been polite enough to invite his brother in, despite the irregular nature of the visit, and now he was sprawled lazily across the couch as if he were back in the home they used to share in the days of Weimar or the Empire. A lot had changed since then.

"Why thanks, _bruderlein_! Why don't you join me?" the elder man smirked, ignoring the younger's tone and patting the cushion beside him.

Germany sighed and sat on the sofa as far from the Prussian as he could. Where he had been concerned for his brother before, the elder's behavior was quickly ensuring that frustration got the better of him. The blonde eyed the other man carefully. Something had seemed very off about him when he first opened the door, and though Prussia seemed his usual obnoxious self now, Germany couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy at the whole situation and his brother's unexpected appearance.

Prussia grew hotter under his brother's cold, appraising glare and searched for the best way to begin. God, was he out of practice.

"Say, don't you keep any beer in this place?" he stalled, glancing around.

Germany's hand went to the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses slightly to pinch between his eyes.

"_Bruder_, why are you here?" he sighed.

There was no mistaking that tone. Prussia knew immediately that this round-about method was not going to work, and switched tactics immediately. Why not tell the truth? Well, not the whole truth, but there wasn't any point in stalling or lying, was there? It was all or nothing.

Prussia slid a little closer to his brother and said, more gently, "it's been a while since we…" Images of a seedy night club from twenty years ago swirled through the albino's mind. He could almost smell the stale beer and tangy, bitter tobacco on hot breath, feel the immense warmth of his brother's arms around him as calloused hands fumbled with buttons and sought sweaty flesh under the haze of dim light filtered through clouds of cigarette smoke.

"…talked," Prussia finished feebly, swallowing hard, only to find his mouth dry.

Germany's hand dropped from his face and cerulean eyes flashed to meet crimson from behind shining spectacles.

"…It has," the German admitted finally, his face betraying no emotion.

"Well…" Prussia shifted uncomfortably. "I just thought, since it's not often you're over this far East, and I happened to be called to the Wolf's Lair at the same time, it'd be… nice to see you. On a non-professional level."

Germany was taken aback. It seemed like a sincere confession, no pretensions. That was rare from his brother…but it was true. They hadn't seen much of each other over the past few years, but that was only to be expected, considering the rather divergent paths they had chosen. Germany had spent time with both the Wehrmacht Heer and the Waffen-SS, where he was now, and was rather contemptuous of the fact that his brother had left the Luftwaffe for the Abwehr, at least until the dissolution of the ineffective intelligence organization a few months earlier. Now Prussia was back in the blue Luftwaffe uniform, but Germany still didn't like the group his brother associated with. Many, including the Prussian himself, were close with the former leader of the Abwehr, Canaris, whom Germany's boss had fired personally. And there were plenty in that circle who seemed to express a certain disdain for some of his boss's policies. Germany couldn't deny that he himself had his doubts sometimes, but he hid them and did his duty unquestioningly. He had faith that his Fuhrer would lead him through these dark times to the bright future he promised as long as his subjects remained loyal and carried out his will.

Prussia looked up, noting his brother's silence and searching his face for some betrayal of emotion.

"_Bruder_, I miss you."

The German dropped his gaze, hoping to quell the surprised blush flowering across his cheeks. "Well, if you miss me there's not much I can do about it. If you insist on hanging around with the likes of Canaris, or Oster and Olbricht for that matter—"

"Please, Ludwig, no politics tonight!"

The German stiffened at the use of his familiar name. It had been so long since he had heard anyone call him that…

He started carefully. "Prussia, maybe you should have considered—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Ludwig, call me by my right name! Since when have we become such strangers to each other?" Crimson eyes searched azure, pleading.

Since when had they become such strangers? For undoubtedly, that's what they practically were. They had been near inseparable during the Weimar years, and yet, since the rise of the National Socialists, Ludwig had been so occupied with the duties of organizing a great nation, always thinking of the future, no time for the older brother who always seemed stuck in the past.

Ludwig drew a deep breath. "Gilbert," he said finally.

"_Ja, bruder?_" Gilbert's voice was low, intense.

"Why, if you don't mind my asking, did it have to be like this, in the middle of the night? If you wanted to talk—"

"But West," Gilbert complained, cutting off his brother yet again, much to the perturbed blonde's chagrin, "I can't really talk to you with all those bureaucrats hanging off of you. This is the only time I knew I could get you alone, when we could really have a chance to talk and unwind, like the good old days."

As he spoke, he cautiously moved a hand over to rest on the German's tense shoulder. Unwinding seemed to be the farthest thing from Ludwig's mind as he eyed the hand, but allowed it to remain in its place.

"Good old days," he snorted derisively. "Is that what you call the times when I was practically France's slave, the shame of all of Europe?"

"_Bruder_," Gilbert sighed and slid closer on the sofa, causing Ludwig to tense more. "No. You know I'm just as glad as you that those days are over. But just because you're busy being the Third Reich now doesn't mean we can't still be there for each other, right? As brothers."

Prussia burned with shame at the manipulation, praying he wasn't too transparent, but luckily Ludwig relaxed slightly, not minding so much when his brother's gloved hand slid from one shoulder to the other so that his arm was draped across the blonde's broad, muscular back. Had his older brother finally come to see things his way? Even through the most turbulent moments of their relationship in the past decade, Germany had only ever wanted nothing more than to live up to Prussia's great legacy, to make his brother proud of the strong nation he had become rather than ashamed of the weak, pathetic state he had been.

"So… what did you want to talk about?"

Gilbert sighed. His little brother could be so… literal? Uninspired? But he pushed that aside as a new idea stirred in his brain, bringing a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"Well, first of all, what do you say about those beers? After all, what would the German brothers be without their drink of choice?"

"_Bruder_, it's midnight, this is no time for—"

"Then when?" Gilbert whined. Ludwig glared.

"Have you made it your goal to interrupt every one of my sentences this evening?" the German growled.

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow and considered for a moment. "That could be fun."

Germany rolled his eyes but otherwise chose to ignore the comment. "Fine." He started to stand but Prussia pulled him back down.

"It's ok, West, I'll get them. Where's the ice chest?"

Ludwig pointed to a corner and Gilbert jumped up eagerly. After a minute of poking around in the chest with his back turned and much clinking of glass, Gilbert returned to the sofa with his arms full of bottles, all of which he managed to deposit successfully onto the table as he sat next to his brother just an inch closer than he had been before. He grinned in satisfaction as he threw his arm back around his brother's shoulders. The blonde regarded the spread of brown glass before him dubiously.

"Gilbert, we're not drinking my entire beer stash in one night."

"Aw, c'mon West!" The albino drew a flustered Ludwig closer. "We've always bonded over drinking. What better way for two brothers to spend some rare, quality together time than with a little contest?"

Ludwig disentangled himself from the albino's grasp. Eyes cold as ice glared into crimson. It was just too much. First the brother with whom he'd hardly exchanged more than pleasantries in a year appears on his doorstep looking as if he'd seen a ghost, then he acts as if he owns the place and claims he wants to talk, and now he wants to have—

"A drinking contest? That's your idea of quality together time?"

Gilbert immediately realized his mistake and inwardly cringed at the blonde's words.

"Prussia, why are you really here?" Those cold azure eyes bore into him with the accusatory question.

Prussia racked his brain frantically. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn't been honest enough? It was all he could think to try.

"Ludwig." Gilbert's tone was suddenly lower, more subdued, drawing the younger nation in out of curiosity despite himself.

"I…" Gilbert fumbled for the right words. Well, perhaps a little twisting of the truth to get started wouldn't hurt. "I don't know when my next mission will be, Ludwig, but the truth is… I just wanted… just in case…" He drew a deep breath. "Just in case I don't return, I didn't want my last memory of you to be a polite nod as we pass in an office hallway."

Ludwig didn't fail to notice how his brother's voice got heavy and gravelly with the last few words. He stared at the white-haired man in amazement, not completely sure how he should feel. Surprise, sadness, defensiveness, fear, and tenderness all competed within his chest, tinged with just a hint of bitter guilt. He had never really considered the thought of losing Prussia altogether.

It was true that no one knew exactly whether nations were mortal or not, but there was no denying the fact that certain nations had disappeared in the past. Prussia had no intention of following suit, despite having been technically dissolved de facto by the Nazi's bureaucratic overhaul of the German states. Besides, there were still regions with his name intact within them, such as their current location, East Prussia, not to mention that many within Eastern Germany still identified as Prussians. Germany had assured him that these ties ensured Prussia's continued existence when the new geography had been adopted despite the lack of an official Prussian state, but now that Gilbert was ensconced in such an elaborate and perilous political game, he wasn't sure it was quite enough to assuage his fears anymore. True, nations could survive in physical conditions no human could endure, but more than once Prussia had wondered just what the fireball of a crashed airplane might do to him, or half a round of machine-gun fire lodged in his cerebellum, or poisonous gas in a locked chamber… for of course, he had heard sinister rumors along those lines, though he found them hard to believe.

The fact was, Gilbert was more terrified of "disappearing" than he ever had been in his life, and what he had told Ludwig was true (except that he did know when his next mission would be, and the thought of the sun rising in a few hours petrified him). Now this was beginning to sink in with his brother as well, and the German, oblivious to what was really at stake for Prussia, still felt a twinge of panic when he pictured his brother's bomber hugging the mountainsides as it swerved out of the line of enemy fire. They may not have been acting very brotherly lately—no, Ludwig corrected himself, _he_ had not been acting very brotherly—but he would never forgive himself if Prussia flew off one day and never returned, and he hadn't even cared so much as to wish him good luck.

To his surprise, Ludwig could feel the heat of tears behind his eyes as he spoke; "_Bruder, es tut mir leid_."

Embarrassed at the near-escape of the treacherous liquid in his eyes, Germany quickly looked down to compose his face into its usual stern mask. A small voice in his head was warning him that he shouldn't be saying this, that he needed to distance himself from his brother like his boss was always encouraging; after all, loyalty belonged to the Fuhrer above all else, even family. But surely… a few beers with a fellow officer was entirely permissible, right?

Before he could allow his emotions to get the better of him, Ludwig snatched up a brown bottle and grumbled, "but really Gilbert, you're just asking for it. You know I could always hold my alcohol better than you." He snapped off the bottle cap with his teeth like the beer expert he was and took a long swig.

Gilbert's insides soared with delight at the slight playfulness in his brother's gruff voice and the informal use of his teeth as a tool. He was getting to him. It was as if a layer—just one thin layer, but still—had peeled away from the practically unrecognizable façade behind which Ludwig had sought refuge for approximately a decade. Here, at last, was the tiniest glimpse of the brother he knew and loved, the stern soldier who would never admit he enjoyed his brother's games but did so all the same, the uptight bureaucrat whose flushed, flustered face Prussia loved more than anything because he knew, he just _knew_ that deep down Germany would miss his antics if he left him alone too long. For a single instant the former kingdom felt a surge of elder-brotherly tenderness towards his former charge and felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and ruffle that perfectly slicked-back corn silk hair as he had when Ludwig was half his height. But he fought the impulse, and realizing that his brother's words had been a jab at his reputation, responded appropriately: "are you kidding me, _bruderlein_? I'm too awesome to lose a drinking contest! Kesese~" and with that he grabbed a beer for himself, snapped the cap off on the edge of the table, and downed half the bottle with one long gulp.

Something other than tenderness governed Prussia's actions now. A deep-seated desire, and unquenchable thirst, an insurmountable _need_ to fill the emptiness he had felt within him since he and Germany had grown apart drove him on as he pressed bottle after bottle into his little brother's unsuspecting hand. He was careful never to match Ludwig's consumption levels, not only because what his brother had said was true (though Gilbert would never concede this), but because he knew he needed his wits about him, both tonight and tomorrow. Still, Gilbert wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the anticipation that tingled his nerves as he watched his brother, his beautiful, perfect Aryan of a brother bring the frosted brown glass to his lips, close his eyes, and indulge in the cold golden liquid, Adam's apple bobbing up and down the length of a white neck in time with his gulps.

Gilbert couldn't help but think that Botticelli had truly missed out for never having painted his brother as he drank beer. Talk about angelic faces. It was so clear that Ludwig was in his element, in his own universe, brow slightly furrowed in concentration, feathery blond lashes gracing cheeks tinted pink with drink and pleasure to match the moist lips that closed seamlessly around smooth glass.

Ludwig, for his part, failed to notice how his brother seemed less concerned with drinking his beer than with drinking in the sight of the other nation. Prussia's flaming red eyes seemed ready to devour him, but Germany was oblivious to all but the quenching substance he so wanted to throw himself into with abandon. Gilbert's visit had stirred up unwelcome emotions that Germany had thought to be well-buried, and this was the quickest, easiest way to dull the pain. At the same time Ludwig hoped that agreeing to drink with Gilbert would do something to repair their fractured relationship. In reality, he knew it was too little, too late, a mere band-aid for a wound that ran far too deep, but at this point he would do anything to evade the guilt, to maintain below the surface the selfishly comfortable distance he had established between them, to avoid offering his heart in a true apology for fear of what he himself would see with his feelings laid bare. The gusto with which he consumed the beverage was a mere bravado for the sake of his act. Once he started however, it was hard to stop, and soon Germany found that focusing on the beer was the most efficient way of blocking out the complicating emotions and thoughts. A few more bottles in and focusing on the beer was all he had the mental capacity for.

Gilbert zeroed in on the trickle of beer that escaped the corner of his brother's mouth like a predatory cat on his prey. Ludwig was getting sloppy… time to make a move? Perhaps not quite yet, just to be sure… if Prussia could contain himself any longer.

"West, slow down!" the albino whined out, flinging his arm back around the blonde's broad shoulders and hanging off of him just a little to create the impression of a higher level of intoxication than he had actually attained. If he could just get his brother to let his guard down a little…

Ludwig grunted in surprise and lowered what must have been his sixth bottle, turning hazy eyes on the head of tousled white hair beside him.

"Cheap drunk," he muttered. He shoved his beer haphazardly among the cluster of empty bottles accumulating on the table and slurred, "Guess that means I won."

"I am _not _a cheap drunk! I'm too awesome!" Gilbert flopped his free hand down on Ludwig's far shoulder so that his arms practically encased his brother's body, but the German was too drunk to care. Rather, he seemed to welcome the extra support, physical needs eclipsing judgment entirely as he let one muscular shoulder sink into Gilbert's warm, inviting chest.

"_Dummkopf bruder_." His spectacles were slowly working their way down the bridge of his nose, so Prussia reached up to remove them and set them by the bottles. He replaced his hand in its former position on his brother's shoulder, but this time he allowed his long, leather-clad digits to slip casually under the collar of Germany's cotton bathrobe. Prussia suddenly felt the strong desire to remove his gloves and caress the hot, supple flesh with his bare fingers, but settled for trying to create a pleasurable sensation for his brother by running the cool, smooth leather over his shoulder. In the process Gilbert managed to push the hem of the garment down a little further, exposing a pale expanse of muscular chest and arm.

"Mm, I've missed you West." Prussia let his cheek drop down onto Ludwig's shoulder, trying to gauge a reaction. Germany's senses, however, were slightly too dulled to fully realize what was happening. All he could make sense of at the moment was that a pleasant smoothness was rubbing his shoulder, and though for some reason part of his chest seemed cold, his brother was warm, very warm, leaning against him, and his nose tickled him as it brushed along his neck, and those lips were so soft as they pressed scalding kisses to his throat… wait. Lips? Kisses?

"_Bruder_!" Ludwig exclaimed angrily as he tried to scramble out of the albino's grasp, but long arms and fingers, surprisingly strong for all their delicacy, thwarted his drunken attempt. "_Was machst du?_" The German summoned up all the imposing and threatening authority he could in his voice, but it had little effect on the Prussian given the spectacular flush rising in his younger brother's face and the disgraceful state of the bathrobe slipping off his torso.

"_Was_?" Gilbert whined. "I'm just giving my _bruderlein_ a little kiss, nothing wrong with that, right?" Prussia gave Germany the most innocent stare he could muster.

Ludwig stared at his brother as he searched for a coherent argument, but it was worse than trying to walk underwater. He just couldn't form a thought quickly enough…

"_Nein_, you were… you were… that's, not how brothers kiss…" The blonde furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and defense.

The older man knew he was treading in dangerous territory now, but it seemed a waste not to go on now that he'd come this far. He adopted an air of concern as he glanced sideways at his little brother.

"West, what are you talking about? I think you're really making too much of this, those beers must have really gone to your head." He sighed heartily. "I knew I shouldn't have suggested drinking tonight, I'm sorry. I just thought it would be nice to relive the old days together, but I should've realized your tolerance might not be what it used to—"

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Ludwig grabbed Gilbert's arm as if to prevent him from leaving though Gilbert hadn't even moved to get up yet. The albino gloated inwardly but pouted his lip out.

"I thought you said I wasn't kissing you how brothers are supposed to."

Ludwig looked down, confusion and disorientation written all over his face. "Well I, I'm not sure… maybe I misinterpreted…"

Prussia allowed a smirk to twitch at his lips. "Or maybe, you just don't remember how brothers kiss… shall I remind you?" And with that he leaned in to catch his brother's perfect lips, smooth as marble, soft as downy.

Gilbert realized this was a huge gamble, but it was all he could hope for that in this impaired state Germany would give in to instinct, old habit, and his older brother's own prowess. For a glorious moment Prussia believed he was winning; as he moved to straddle the other man's lap, Ludwig's lips began their sensual dance against the Prussian's, an automatic reaction to the thrill of contact. But suddenly, they stopped.

Germany's eyes, which had closed with the kiss, shot open. He glared icy daggers at his brother's face, still lost in ecstasy, and growled against his still-seeking mouth, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The words ripped through Prussia like jagged shrapnel. He froze. Apparently copious amounts of alcohol were not enough to rid his brother of all the rigidity he had built up over the past decade.

With a feral snarl, the larger nation shoved the smaller from his lap and onto the floor against the table. Germany stood quickly to tower over his brother, though he needed a solid few seconds to steady himself on his traitorously wobbly legs.

"You make me sick," he spat, furiously trying to focus his clouded eyes on the albino below him.

"Huh, funny, you'd think that if you had something against incest you would have said so before 1871. Please tell me I haven't been raping my little brother for the past century; I was under the impression you enjoyed it. Quite a bit." Prussia's eyes flamed with his words.

Germany stooped down to grab a fistful of the Luftwaffe uniform front, though to keep his balance that meant dropping to his knees and grasping the table with his free hand. "Then what the fuck do you call forcing beers on me and pulling that _scheisse_!"

Gilbert knew he was in deep now. His brother hardly ever swore… He could smell the bitterness of beer on Ludwig's heaving breaths, and for the first time in his long memory Gilbert truly felt he was in danger in the presence of a drunk, angry Germany. But then, Prussia had always loved danger.

...

Translations:  
>Bruderlein: little brother<br>Es tut mir leid: I'm sorry  
>Dummkopf bruder: nitwitstupid-head brother ^^  
>Was machst du: what are you doing<br>Scheisse: shit

Sorry if I missed anything you need translated-just let me know! Also, please correct any German mistakes you see. I may have forgotten the capitalization rule too... I'll try to do better on that in the future!

Please leave a review if you're so inclined, I'll appreciate it greatly! Let me know if you want to see more of this story!


	2. Schwul

_WARNINGS: THIS IS 18+ FOR A REASON, as in EXTREMELY GRAPHIC YAOI BOY ON BOY SMEX. please use your own discretion. don't like, don't read, don't flame. oh, and some musing on Nazi themes too._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia!_

_..._

Schwul

July 20, 1944, 12:30 a.m.

The Wolf's Lair, East Prussia

Prussia had always loved danger. Which was why his current predicament excited him even more than a nose-dive in his Junkers _Stuka_. His fiery eyes flashed boldly up at the larger nation crouching astride his legs. "Oh, c'mon West, I've known you long enough to know what you want."

Germany tightened his grip on his brother's uniform, giving no thought to the sensitive skin he caught along with the cloth between his bruising fingertips. "I. Am. Not. _Schwul_," he growled threateningly. "How dare you suggest such a thing of the Third Reich? You know my position on that kind of filth," he spat, his contempt coming out more strongly than usual in his drunken rage.

Gilbert smirked. "Oh, I know every position in your repertoire, _Bruder_."

Ludwig's palm collided forcefully with the side of his brother's face with a resounding _smack_. Prussia was bowled over to the side with the momentum of the blow, cheek stinging smartly. Gasping through the pain, he emitted a few hitched giggles.

"You should see yourself, West," he wheezed, eyes watering from the slap and his own strained amusement. "Kesese, to think they've got you, the mighty Germany, under their yoke so good! _Gott_, I remember a time when you wouldn't stop at anything to take what you wanted!" The albino howled with laughter.

Each dark chuckle and mocking guffaw was an irritating spike in the blonde's eardrum. He shook Gilbert violently by the shoulders. "What are you talking about?" he challenged.

"Kesesese, oh Luddy, I never thought I'd see the day that you let a few puny humans govern your sex life! How long has it been, West, huh?"

That ear-to-ear grin was too much to tolerate. Germany grabbed a few tufts of white hair and wrenched back his brother's head, bringing his own a hair's breadth away. "I've claimed plenty of nations in this war, and you know it," he breathed venomously.

"And yet you can't claim your own brother, not even a nation, but a region of your own?" It was difficult to speak with his head forced back, but Gilbert continued his taunt. "This isn't about following a general's orders and occupying another nation, _Bruder_. It's about you, your will, your strength. To do whatever the fuck you want, and fuck Aryan motherhood or whatever the fuck you think you're preserving by denying yourself." As if to prove his point, he punctuated this statement with a sudden lurch forward to clamp his teeth down on Ludwig's lower lip and suck harshly.

"Ngh!" Germany grunted at the pain and other unwelcome sensations that seared his lip. He thrust Gilbert back so that he crashed into the collection of beer bottles on the table, sending them spinning in every direction, and lay sprawled over the table on his back.

Prussia winced as the air was cut off from his lungs. They burned when he finally managed to inflate them again and gasp, "You did always like things a little rough, didn't you, West?"

Ludwig lunged forward to grab him by the collar once more, though he made sure to keep his face at a safer distance this time. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you," he growled, and the iciness of his eyes left no doubt in Prussia's mind that his brother was considering exactly that course of action. Gilbert knew it was just another defensive barrier the younger nation had constructed, but one he had to overcome. There was no going back now, and if he couldn't bring his brother around, if Ludwig really decided to turn him in, it would jeopardize everything. Months of planning, lives risked, and all for what? A few moments' sexual satisfaction? Why, why had he decided to come here? Because, Prussia reminded himself, no matter what happened tomorrow, this could well be his last chance to be with his brother for a very long time.

Swiftly, Gilbert swung his legs up to wrap around Ludwig's hips and pull him down so their forms were flush against each other. "Because, _Bruder_," he purred in response, "that would be quite hypocritical, don't you think?" Sultry lips brushed the rim of the blonde's ear.

Before the intoxicated German could react with more than an involuntary shudder, one leather-clad hand snaked its way between their bodies and pressed firmly against Ludwig's crotch through the cloth of his lounge pants. Ludwig's breath caught in his throat, and he knew he was supposed to feel infuriated by such a show of impudence, but the touch was simply too inviting to rebuff just yet… He knew he must collect himself and extract himself from this compromising situation, but that proved difficult with the sinewy thighs pressing him close, the hot hand encasing his member, and the scent of his brother that filled his nose, millimeters from the nape of Gilbert's snowy neck.

That scent. That scent that was like the musky sweat of battle clinging to an old uniform, the sickly sweet perfume of death masked by lush, moist pine groves, the caustic tang of Gilbert's preferred tobacco, the must of long-abandoned watchtowers, the pungent aroma of sun-kissed cornflowers; it drew Ludwig in every time. It was the scent he had taken comfort in when he was small. It was the scent of the bed he and his brother had shared in decades past. It was the scent of home. It was the scent of his lover.

Ludwig relished in it a moment too long. Prussia took advantage of the temporary collapse of Germany's defenses to run a slick tongue around the shell of his ear and give his clothed cock one slow, tantalizing pump. A soft groan escaped from the larger nation.

"We were always stronger together, _Bruder_," the Prussian whispered against the blonde's ear, rolling his hips sensually to grind against his little brother.

Ludwig's lips moved, but no words came out. His brow was furrowed as an inner battle raged. He was vaguely aware of a promise he had made, to himself and his boss, that he would not give in to the kinds of urges he was feeling so intensely at the moment. On the field of battle, when occupying another nation, was one thing: there, Germany had to assert his complete dominance and force any resistance into submission. Every nation knew what that meant. But this was not a battlefield, nor even enemy territory, and the warm body beneath him was not a foreign country, not a rival in war. It was his brother, his flesh and blood, his mentor, his protector, now his vassal. Germany was not under orders to take this man. The tingling sensations surging across his skin and the disinhibiting alcohol working on his mind, however, were quickly diminishing the significance of such political and ideological niceties.

Prussia noted the German's silence and stillness, so he pressed forward, not wanting to lose his vantage.

"…But it's been a long time since we were together, West… are you too weak now to take what's yours?" he breathed.

A low growl emanated from Ludwig's throat. He was anything but weak… in fact, he would show his big brother just how strong he had become.

With one sudden, swift motion, Ludwig flipped Gilbert over onto his stomach. With equal efficiency and violence he unclasped the albino's belt and pants button, then yanked the blue cloth halfway down white thighs, too impatient to remove the article entirely. Prussia gasped at the sudden rush of cool air against his most sensitive parts, but the shadow of a triumphant grin flitted across his eager, ecstatic face.

Without any further hesitation, Ludwig spread the smooth ass cheeks before him with one hand and thrust two fingers from his other through the waiting ring of muscle. Gilbert gasped harshly at the sudden burning intrusion and arched back, clutching the edge of the table. His walls, however, had not forgotten the touch of his brother, their warmth and tightness inviting the fingers in deeper, molding to the familiar shape.

Almost immediately, the searching digits found what they sought, for they too remembered how to navigate this close space. Prussia's sharp intake of breath notified his brother of his success, and a dark smirk crept across the blonde's features. He continued petting, pressing, and prodding his target with merciless fervor and precision as Gilbert squirmed against the table, face contorted with perverse pleasure.

Germany loved this. Each tantalizing whimper and exquisite moan he elicited was worth a thousand victories on the battlefield. With a mere two fingers, he could reduce the Awesome Prussia, seizer of vital regions, to a hot mess. It was the product of years of pleasuring his brother, over which he had acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of Prussia's every hidden desire, every secret crevice, and it had all been stored away safely in his subconscious. It was like riding a bike, his fingers automatically rubbing and stretching in just the right places, at just the right angles.

But better yet than the knowledge that he had the power to give pleasure was the knowledge that he could choose to withhold it just as easily. Whether his brother was writhing in ecstasy or breathily begging for stimulation was completely in his hands. He would swirl his fingers delicately around Gilbert's smooth walls, careful to never quite touch that magical spot, until his brother's panting became heavy with need. He waited dutifully for the inevitable groan of "West… pleeease…", and finally he would brush just a fingertip over his prostate. He delighted in how his brother twitched violently with every tiny flick of his finger. He had always been so sensitive. And then, once Ludwig had had his fill of this torture and Gilbert was near to tears from want, without warning he would add a third finger and plunge in completely, as deep as his fingers would reach, finally obliging and overwhelming Prussia with all the touches and motions he knew he loved best, until the great nation was an incoherent, limp sack of delicious flesh beneath him.

Ludwig felt like a god.

Prussia made a few noises which the German blithely ignored before the albino finally managed to pant out, "W-West, s-stop teasing, _Gottverdammt_, and just FUCK ME!"

Ludwig did not need a second invitation. Suddenly, the probing fingers were gone, leaving Gilbert feeling all too empty, his now gaping hole pulsating with need. He bit his lip to hold back the pathetic whimper straining in his throat. He felt as if he would die if something didn't fill that emptiness, if something didn't take him right then and there and pound him into the table so hard he wouldn't be able to walk for a week. He didn't have to wait long for his wish to be fulfilled.

Prussia gasped at the sensation of his brother's cock pressing at his entrance, and soon enough, the head was inside. His eyes watered at the stretching, more than three fingers' worth, but even after such a hiatus in their sex lives it was more simply uncomfortable than outright painful.

"Ohhh…" he groaned wantonly as he felt that once-familiar sliding deep inside of him, a place it didn't seem possible anyone could reach.

"H-haahh…" He bucked his hips back, trying to take his brother in deeper, trying to rub his sweet spot against the thick head.

Ludwig grunted at the incredible heat and pressure encasing his member as Gilbert tried to impale himself further. He wound his fingers tightly into snowy locks and tugged harshly, bringing the albino's ear up to his mouth as he purred, "Such a little _Schlampe_, aren't you?"

As it so happened, Gilbert did feel like a _Schlampe_ at the moment. He wanted Germany, and he wanted him bad. But what did that matter, he thought defensively, especially as Ludwig's own voice was heavy with lust? And he had every right to demand more from his brother, especially when he teased him so…

Prussia's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden contraction and thrust forward that ended with the German's taught pelvic muscles smacking erotically against Gilbert's soft backside.

"Nghh!" he grunted as he felt himself being filled completely, stretched as far as he could go around the meaty cock sheathed entirely within him.

Germany panted, overwhelmed by the intense, exquisite feeling of Gilbert's ass clinging around his swollen member. The burning in his flesh that was inside his brother was spreading quickly across his skin, and he was suddenly frustrated with the robe that still hung at his elbows. He flung it away clumsily and pressed his broad, naked chest against the blue-uniformed back heaving beneath him, half-noting that it would be so nice to feel bare, sweaty skin against his own, but doing nothing about it as the greedy impatience of his libido engulfed his mind. It had been far too long…

His fingers found the delectable suppleness of rounded buttocks and squeezed into the pliable flesh. With a heaving roll of the hips, Ludwig withdrew as far as he could without slipping out of the enticing cavern, then rammed his full length back in, groaning at the fierce friction.

The Prussian let out a small "ah!" as if in surprise, which quickly turned to a more keening string of "h-hah-ah-haahh" rising in pitch and volume as the blonde repeated the action again, and again, and again, drawing out, plunging in, building up to a violent rhythm of lewd smacks and moans.

But for Germany, it wasn't enough. He was finally taking his brother again, for the first time in years, and all he could get out of him was a few whines. And the larger nation hadn't forgotten the inflammatory comments that had led to their current… situation, either. Prussia was getting off just a little too easy in his opinion, being fucked over a table like a casual quickie…

"Bruder," the blonde breathed in Gilbert's ear, "about you knowing… ngghh… every position in my repertoire—a-ahh… I think you'll find you were—MNFF!—wrong—" Ludwig panted with the effort of getting the words out through the intoxicatingly-sweet shroud clouding his brain, but before Gilbert could react, he had dragged him down onto the narrow strip of rug between coffee table and couch, twisting him onto his back in the same motion. Within seconds Ludwig had made a few astonishingly agile adjustments to Prussia's position, and the albino suddenly found himself with both legs up in the air, still bound by his half-removed pants, with his tailbone resting against the edge of the couch cushions and his neck bent at a near-ninety degree angle so the back of his head could rest against the floor. He was almost completely upside-down and it was… not comfortable, to say the least, especially with the odd pressure constricting his lungs and all the weight on his shoulder blades pressing into the too-thin carpet.

Gilbert was disoriented and confused by the strange new position, that is until Ludwig straddled the backs of his thighs as if he was about to sit on the couch cushions, but instead settled himself over his brother's exposed ass, grabbing his own dick and pressing it once more through the tight cheeks. He gripped the thighs suspended before him for balance and began bobbing up and down as Prussia made a satisfyingly strangled noise at the feeling of the unfamiliar angle.

In all their years of fucking, Gilbert couldn't remember his brother ever reaching this deep inside him. Ramming into him straight up and down, aided by gravity, Ludwig managed to press his balls tightly against Gilbert's backside with each and every thrust, grunting at the added pressure. The pain that jolted through Prussia's neck and shoulders as he was pounded into the floor caused him to whimper pitifully, but not as much as what his brother's cock was doing to his insides. It felt as though a jackhammer was driving into his prostate.

"M-more, West, more! Faster!" he pleaded, teary-eyed, and the other nation complied. Gilbert could feel that ebullient bubble rising up in his nether regions as he reached his plateau. It was pure, sustained bliss from here on out, a seemingly eternal ecstasy.

Germany glanced down at Prussia's face as he pounded into him and was captivated by what he saw. The albino's eyes were closed in an expression that Ludwig might have mistaken for agony had he not known better. Oh, his brother was loving every second of this… And that mouth. Oh god, that mouth, hanging completely slack and slightly agape, rosy lush lips shining with moisture… how long since Germany had felt that exquisite mouth around his manhood? Too long.

With sudden impatience, Ludwig withdrew from Gilbert and clambered around his legs to hover over his dazed and vaguely surprised face, planting his knees on either side. Reaching down, he rubbed his weeping cock across a pale cheek to press the head against those sumptuous lips. Crimson eyes glinted wickedly as they flashed to meet dark sapphires, and suddenly Prussia's mouth was everywhere—or so it felt to Ludwig. The German's world narrowed to just his length and that terribly teasing tongue in that terribly enticing mouth enveloping him. He groaned as Gilbert pressed his slick muscle against his slit and then thoroughly massaged the sensitive underside. In another second, Prussia had engulfed him as far as he could go. Ludwig groaned and bucked into the hot, wet cavern, causing his brother to gag as the tip pressed against the back of his throat. The larger nation smirked at the appealingly sloppy noise. He thrust in again, and Gilbert choked around his length again. Germany reveled in the lewd sound and the salacious trails of saliva stringing from his brother's lips, and continued to fuck his mouth.

"Ohh—G-Giiilbert…" he moaned, mouth hanging open and eyes shut in concentration. This was more like it, thought Germany as he thrust his hips repeatedly: Prussia, beneath him, submissively getting a thorough throat-fucking, practically suffocating in the process… perhaps he'd learned his place at last. A slight smile, somewhat akin to a sneer, curled the corners of Ludwig's mouth as he felt the rush of power take him even higher.

The strong grasp of leather-clad fingers digging into his hipbones was what brought him back down. Confused and disappointed at the grip restraining his motions, Germany glanced down at Prussia. The elder pulled away, spluttering and coughing, but instead of pushing his younger brother off, he looked back up into his face, a new hardness in his eyes. He swiftly scooted a few more inches from the couch so he could lift his head more easily, then jerked Ludwig's hips back towards his face and swallowed him whole, sucking harshly. This time, he was in control.

The blonde threw back his head at the sudden thrill that shot through his groin, choking on his sharp intake of breath. Still with that strange gleam in his eye, Prussia pursued a relentless program of torture on his brother's needy cock. His hungry orbs voraciously devoured the sight of the heaving, glistening torso above him, and the sinfully contorting features of Ludwig's face.

The knowledge that he could still drive the younger nation mad was worth all the risks he had taken tonight. He was still the elder brother, he was still the awesome Prussia, he was still the most skilled lover. Tomorrow, the reason for all of his recent anxiety, for his desperate need to be with his brother, was forgotten as he focused solely on pleasuring the blonde and receiving more of those arousing reactions.

Forcing down his gag reflex, Gilbert took his brother in until he felt the rubbing at the back of his throat. He paused, steeling himself, then pushed further forward, lips stretching towards taught balls and blonde fuzz, but Ludwig was just… so big. The urge to regurgitate the entire penis was overwhelming, but Gilbert was determined, especially after hearing the shameless moan that escaped his brother's lips. He fought down rising bile and burning coughs, and with one final act of will his lips closed around the base of the shaft. Prussia slid his tongue out to tease the testicles, relishing in his victory, but the greatest reward was the sight of a Germany so intoxicated with pleasure he was unable to breathe for several seconds.

When he finally did manage to draw breath and unscrew his eyes to gaze down at his brother, there was new sentiment in those azure depths: fond reverence and helpless awe. The German simply stared down in amazement at the man sucking him off with such gusto for a few moments, but finally the pleasuring nation couldn't take it for a moment longer and had to pull back with a wet squelch. He barely had time to gulp in the welcome air before he felt himself being pulled up by his uniform front to meet bruising lips. As forceful as the kiss was, there was something more than domination fueling the furiously working tongue that it took Gilbert a moment to place before he realized with astonishment: it was gratitude. With this passionate dance of mouth on mouth, Ludwig was thanking his brother, practically even worshipping him, for reawakening a side of him that he had not allowed to see the light for what seemed a lifetime, for reminding him what it felt like… to be loved. To be accepted and embraced in the throes of sexual passion rather than resented and loathed.

It had been so long since he had properly loved another nation.

When they finally broke apart, Ludwig wasted no time in readjusting their positions to continue their ardent union. He lifted the albino up further until he could slip underneath his legs and sit with his back against the base of the couch. The breathless Prussian swiftly situated himself so that his restricted ankles were behind his body as he kneeled over his brother's bare thighs. Ludwig scooted down until his member, still standing at attention, was pointed up directly at Gilbert's ass, and then eagerly guided the smaller man's hips down to meet his own, conjoining their bodies intimately once more.

Prussia sighed with a bliss beyond content. Though he had never stopped loving the blonde, that kiss had rekindled in him a tender passion he had all but forgotten in the years away from Germany's strong arms. As he felt them becoming one again, deep, deep inside his body, inside his soul, he felt a new happiness, more than the fulfillment of desperate desires, welling up in his stomach. The member buried within him seemed to complete him, as if he had only just realized what a void he had been burdened with before. His brother's cock reached in further, further, and Gilbert was so, so whole, and oh, yes, YES this was what he wanted… this was what he needed…

Gilbert began to move. Slowly at first, savoring each slide of skin on skin, in places where one didn't think of there being skin, they're so deep inside, so private and personal, forbidden. Then, gradually, faster, gloved hands roaming and groping restlessly for leverage until they settled on a strong, shining shoulder and on the table behind. Ludwig started to meet his brother's movements with his own thrusts, coordinating a sensual dance punctuated by the staccato smacks of bare flesh meeting at a steady tempo and the more erratic rhythm of rapid breaths, soft exclamations, and the occasional fervent groan that could have come from the earth itself.

Ludwig lustfully watched himself disappear and reappear repeatedly between his brother's white thighs, and delightedly eyed Gilbert's cock bouncing wildly with each contact, until the mounting pressure and pleasure forced him to squeeze his eyes shut as his mouth twisted in a silent scream. Gilbert was lost in the clouds, silvery locks flopping against his sweat-drenched forehead with each electrifying thrust, climbing, climbing, almost there, so close now…

As one body, they reached the brink: the instant that the glass must brim over, the instant that the bubble must burst, the instant that release is inevitable. Eyes met, mouths collided, tongue and lips trying to suck the other into their very being. Together they toppled into a void in which existed only each other as their essence was spilt. With one final thrust, a white ribbon shot from the tip of Gilbert's cock to splatter over Ludwig's shining abdomen, and a hot gush of liquid flooded into the albino's tight cavern and every secret crevice.

The brothers sat for a moment, closer than close, panting and waiting for functionality to return to their senses. Gilbert rested against the broad warmth of the blonde, savoring the residual satisfaction of an explosive orgasm and giving no thought to the possibility of getting cum stains on the Luftwaffe jacket. He moved with the rise and fall of breath in the body against him, like the gentle rocking of a boat, or a crib… how he would love to fall asleep with that bare body in his arms once more…

But he knew it couldn't last. When Ludwig's hands slid from his hips to the floor, he took the cue and gingerly lifted himself off the newly flaccid member, only to collapse to the side and shuffle awkwardly away from the German, wriggling to pull his pants back up and buckle them in a seated position. The other nation did not move. He remained limply leaning against the couch, legs sprawled out, head resting back against the seat cushions, gazing blankly at the ceiling.

Prussia stared at him tentatively, waiting. All the pent up anxiety that had been forgotten in the lustful heat of the moment was slowly seeping back into his heart, ensnaring it in its chilling grasp bit by bit. Now that his brother's mental capacity was not blocked by impending orgasm and the alcohol was wearing off, how would he react? The Prussian knew he had breached a barrier, but how quickly could Germany put it back up?

The seconds ticked by in silence but for the still labored breathing of two spent bodies. Ludwig never shifted an inch. Gilbert finally looked down, biting back the sudden and embarrassing threat of tears. He thought he had made a breakthrough, but it seemed the blonde had been using the albino as much as the albino had intended to use him. Or, even worse, Ludwig had felt the same sentiments as his brother as they made love, but was retreating back to the security and rigidity of his new façade after the uncertain thrills of true passion. Apparently, he did not want his brother enough. Perhaps, thought Gilbert, it was just as well; had the night ended in cuddles and professions of renewed love, it may have made his task for the next day quite impossible…

He turned his head back to the younger man and scoffed lightly. "_Schwul_," he whispered contemptuously. The blonde did not react, and he wondered if he had even heard him.

With an inward sigh, the Prussian heaved himself to his feet. He stole one last glance at his brother's wilted form before staggering to the door, which he promptly unlocked, opened, stepped through, and closed behind him.

Ludwig only vaguely registered his brother's movements. He remained seated and staring for a solid few minutes until finally the gears that had stopped turning clunked back into place in his lethargic mind, and slowly, shakily, he stood. He was not entirely sure what had just transpired, nor was he sure he wanted to understand it completely. He was sure, however, that upon closer examination of the encounter and his own emotions, his findings would be quite displeasing and most embarrassing… but he had a meeting with the Fuhrer tomorrow, and if Germany was to be able to face his boss, he had best get some rest and do his best not to think on it.

He stumbled to his bedroom and collapsed onto his mattress, not bothering with covers, pajamas, or even the clean-up of his own sweat and semen-coated body. Luckily for Ludwig, the lingering effects of the beers (and of his exhausting climax, though he would not allow himself to think that thought) helped carry him off to sleep soon after his head hit the pillow.

...

As soon as he heard the finalizing _thump-click_ of the door shutting after him, the albino slumped against the hard, cold wood, trying to find the will to drag his thoroughly abused and sore ass all the way back to his temporary quarters. When he finally placed one booted foot in front of the other, it didn't help how acutely aware he was of the tiny tears and sticky cum his brother had left as souvenirs deep inside him. But that's what he had wanted, wasn't it? That was what he had come for, and that was what he had gotten… and it would have to be enough for a very, very long time.

...

Translations:  
>Schwul: gay<br>Gott: God  
>Gottverdammt: Goddamnit<br>Schlampe: slut, bitch

So... um... this is my first. lemon. ever. I hope you like it, please be kind! It was... quite a trial to write. Oh, and I LOVE REVIEWS!

Most of the research for chapter 3 is done, so I hope to be updating soon!


	3. Valkyrie

_Warnings: some language, mild violence and mild sexual references_

_Disclaimer: don't own Hetalia, just this plot_

_A/N: I'm using European time from now on-if you don't know it, it's a 24 hour clock so 13:00 is 1 pm_

...

Valkyrie

July 20, 1944, 10:24

The Wolf's Lair, East Prussia

Gilbert couldn't eat. He poked the cold potatoes on his plate with his fork, mashing them into little hills and valleys and tracing patterns across their surface. Around him, officers were milling happily in and out of the mess hall, sitting at the outdoor tables and reading the paper as they relished a late breakfast, or lingering to chat with friends over a cup of coffee. Prussia wondered if any of them would be present at the briefing that afternoon. He scanned their faces. None of them looked important enough.

The pale-haired man sighed deeply. They ought to be here any minute now… It was only eight kilometers from Rastenberg Airfield, but something could go wrong any step of the way. What if the car were stopped? What if the attaché were misplaced? What if they were questioned, or what if there had been a mechanical failure with the plane? What if they had crashed? What if they had never left Berlin?

Gilbert shook his head violently. He had to pull himself together. The last thing he needed was curious eyes or inquiries as to his well-being. It didn't help that he had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. And the area around his tailbone still ached as he sat on the hard wooden chair.

Gilbert sighed again. Ludwig. When he wasn't obsessing over everything that was to happen that day, he was thinking of Ludwig. How would he react? Whether Gilbert failed or succeeded, it seemed unlikely that he could expect anything positive from Germany, at least in the short run. And why… why hadn't he looked at him last night? All Prussia needed was a word, a smile, anything, but Ludwig had simply lain there, after finally making love to his brother for the first time in so long. That kiss they had shared though… Gilbert thought there had been a true spark. He wanted to believe so, at least. Maybe, just maybe, if everything went according to plan, it would all be okay, and Germany would forgive him eventually, even thank him, and they would be together again, sharing their days and nights as they once did.

Another sigh. It was so unlikely.

Just then a familiar voice floated over the general buzz of conversation. Prussia looked up. Two men were walking towards him from the road. One was a somewhat handsome, dark-haired lieutenant whom the Prussian did not recognize, but the other he knew instantly. He was tall and dark with a nobly lined face, but more distinctive yet were the right sleeve of his Wehrmacht colonel's uniform without a hand at the end and the eye patch over his left eye.

Prussia stood.

"_Herr_ _Preußen_," the man greeted him graciously. He placed the attaché case he was carrying at his feet and extended his left hand, which only had three fingers. Prussia took it.

"Count von Stauffenberg." He searched the colonel's eyes, but they betrayed nothing.

Stauffenberg gestured to his companion. "_Herr_ _Preußen_, this is Lieutenant Scheibler; he was assigned to me upon my arrival. Lieutenant, I don't think I need to tell you who this is."

Scheibler saluted eagerly. "_Mein Herr_, it is an honor."

Prussia smirked. "Pleasure to meet you." After so many centuries, he still got a little kick out of humans' reactions to him. He was probably the most awesome person this young lieutenant had ever met.

He turned back to Stauffenberg. "Wasn't Lieutenant Haeften coming along?"

"He's here, we'll meet up later. I thought I should grab a bite of breakfast, but he said he wasn't hungry."

Gilbert could sympathize.

…

They passed the meal in what would appear to any outside observer to be a jovial atmosphere. Stauffenberg was a good conversationalist, and Scheibler turned out to be an amiable fellow. Gilbert even managed to swallow a few bites of wurst for appearance's sake. The count next to him amazed him, however. Gilbert was sure he must have been a great actor in a past life; no one could have guessed a thing by looking at him. It drove Gilbert crazy not to be able to discern anything or simply ask the questions burning in his mind. It must be a good sign, though. If Stauffenberg was acting normal, things were going more or less according to plan.

The Prussian, however, couldn't help but glance every few seconds at the attaché by Stauffenberg's chair. Right in the open. Such a simple thing. Luckily, Scheibler did not notice his wandering eyes.

Finally, they stood from the table. Scheibler reached for the case.

"Let me, _Herr Oberst_. It will be easier if I carry it for you."

The albino tensed.

"Of course, thank you, Lieutenant," the colonel answered. Prussia stared at him, astounded. Due to his injuries, it was common for his subordinates to perform such tasks, but Gilbert could have done that—why hadn't he thought to ask?

Scheibler lifted the case and seemed mildly surprised. "Why is your bag so heavy, _Herr Oberst_?"

Gilbert tensed once more.

"Because I have so much to do," Stauffenberg stated matter-of-factly.

Apparently that was enough of an answer for the lieutenant, and the nation breathed a sigh of relief as they left the officer's mess.

Stauffenberg let the lieutenant get ahead a few steps as they approached the waiting car. Swiftly, he leaned down to mutter in Prussia's ear, "The explosives are in place. I'll need time to prime them, but everything is set for the 13:00 briefing."

A shiver ran down Gilbert's spine.

…

12:21

Ludwig set his pen down with a sigh. He hadn't been able to concentrate on his work all day, and it wasn't just the dull remains of a hangover lurking in his temples. Disjointed images from the night before were scattered through his brain like the pieces of an unsettling jigsaw puzzle, and try as he might to fit them together, nothing seemed to make any sense. But then, he wasn't sure he wanted to see the completed picture.

Ludwig ran his hands down his face. He felt guilty. He had gleaned quite enough from the jumbled puzzle pieces to know he ought to. He hadn't acknowledged his brother when he left, and now he was regretting it. Germany regretted the whole episode, really; he should never have let his guard down. Prussia was a bad influence. Doing such improper things, especially with his own brother, went against everything he had been led to believe, but worse yet, it had planted a seed of doubt in Germany's mind. He couldn't deny the brief glimpses of soaring sensations and intimate closeness his memory was giving him, things that had been denied to him for the past several years. Would he have to deny himself further and continue in solitude in order to adhere to his ideals? What Gilbert had done was wrong, his mind said, and yet it had felt strangely right… Surely his elder brother at least deserved something more than what Ludwig had offered him. He had not meant to hurt Gilbert, and yet he undoubtedly had.

The German sighed again, straightening the papers on his desk. He needed to focus. Perhaps he should seek out his brother after the briefing, to… what, apologize to him? Scold him? Germany wasn't sure, but he couldn't stand lengthening the silence between them. He would talk with Prussia, properly, somewhere where the older nation couldn't corner him again… though the thought of his brother cornering him made Ludwig's face heat with a shameful blush.

Just then a smart rap came on his office door, startling him from his musings. Germany collected himself quickly.

"_Treten Sie ein_," he said firmly.

In stepped a nervous young sergeant. Swiftly he raised his arm and shouted "_Heil Hitler_!" rather too loudly. Ludwig winced as his head began to throb again. This was obviously one of the over-emphatic types, new to his post and terrified of doing anything wrong.

"_Heil Hitler_," Germany repeated blandly, raising his hand briefly, almost as if shooing a fly away from his face.

"Message from Field Marshal von Keitel, _mein Herr_. The Fuhrer will be receiving the Duce this afternoon and to accommodate this the briefing has been moved a half-hour earlier, to 12:30," the sergeant blurted out.

The nation glanced at the clock with a huff of frustration. He had six minutes.

"Very well. You may go," he said tersely.

"_Jawohl_!" The man saluted again and left.

Germany glanced at the unfinished paperwork on his desk. Damn Prussia. He supposed he would have to fudge his way through the meeting. Afterwards, and after a word with Gilbert, he would apply himself doubly to make up for his lack of productivity. Of course the meeting with Mussolini would also take up time…

Ludwig sighed yet again as he gathered his files. He remembered when a visit from the Duce meant seeing Italy, back when he had wanted to see him. Now, being the coward he was, Feliciano hardly ever left the Salo Republic, the last refuge of Fascism in Italy. But Germany didn't care. Though Veneziano was still technically his ally, he was nothing more than a puppet state, tied to Germany only out of fear. They had hardly spoken since the capitulation and hardly even looked at each other since Kephalonia. Feliciano had wanted out of the war, he had wanted to turn his back on the one whom he had called his friend, and the only reason he was still cooperating with Germany was because he was weak. Like he had always been.

Ludwig took a deep breath to clear his head of his derisive thoughts. He couldn't be distracted in the presence of his boss. Stacking his folders neatly under one arm, he left his office and headed to the conference barracks.

…

12:21

"Stop pacing," Lieutenant Haeften muttered as Gilbert turned to walk the three meters of hallway he had claimed as his own for the umpteenth time.

"Sorry." The albino froze, willing his feet to stay planted.

But he couldn't shake his nerves as he stood waiting for Stauffenberg to return. They were so close now; it seemed as though all the meticulous planning and failed attempts of the past few weeks were mere waves of momentum that had caught Gilbert up and had been hurtling him headlong towards this crucial moment. Everything had gone so quickly, but now time had practically stopped. Prussia felt like a man dying of thirst in the desert, and each minute that ticked by was a single drop of tantalizing water that could never be enough. The veteran of countless wars was unbearably restless; 13:00 would never arrive, not like this—

"You're doing it again," Haeften warned.

Gilbert halted the steps that had recommenced of their own accord. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall next to his co-conspirator and friend. He felt, now, that he could tentatively call all the men with whom he had been plotting so closely for months his friends. It was not a common feeling for Prussia, who tried to avoid becoming too attached to humans. Their lives were so fragile, so brief. In the last world war, everyone seemed to think Manfred von Richtofen, his dear Red Baron, to be invincible, and yet one flight too many and he died just like all the other wasted and broken young men. Even his precious Fritz, whom he had known for over 70 years (an age for a mortal, a few blinks of the eye for a nation), had slowly succumbed to the decay of the body, and none of his great accomplishments or lasting influence could save him from the painful end of his days. Each time Prussia loved a human, he faced the inevitable pain of losing them.

He glanced ruefully at the young lieutenant by his side. Haeften was such a good man, loyal and reliable. But Gilbert couldn't shake the feeling that he might be losing him and the others all too soon.

The others… what were they doing now? Gilbert let his thoughts wander to the men waiting at the Reserve Army headquarters in Berlin. There was Colonel Quirnheim, an honest man and pragmatic thinker, and General Olbricht, full of warmth and wisdom and a consummate Prussian. Commander Fromm would also be there, but as long as he kept his mouth shut they would be fine. He supposed the waiting must be painful for them, as well, as they counted down the minutes to issuing the orders that would put the rest of their elaborate plan into effect. Despite his extreme case of nerves, Gilbert wasn't entirely positive he would want to change positions with them and be helpless hundreds of miles away, powerless to affect the crucial events taking place here.

Prussia knew it must be most frustrating, though, for those who had been indispensible in planning yet could play no part in the execution at all. These were other men whom he was proud to call Prussians: the serene and imperturbable General Oster, under whom Gilbert had worked closely in the Abwehr, but who had unfortunately been placed under house arrest when he was caught helping to smuggle Jews to safety in Switzerland; and the man that made Prussia's heart swell with the most affection, General Henning von Tresckow. Prussia had known a long line of Tresckows who had served loyally in many of his past wars, but the current Tresckow more than lived up to his predecessors. Tresckow, though unlike Gilbert in so many ways, was as true an embodiment of the Prussian spirit as could be found in a human. It had been he who had reminded Gilbert what he stood for, and made him realize how he had been betraying his own legacy. He had recruited the nation to join the conspiracy and brought him into the Kreisau Circle, a group of German dissidents, where Prussia's eyes had finally been opened to the possibilities of a different Germany. It was there that Gilbert became resolved to take action to save West.

It was because of Tresckow that he was standing here now, in a corridor of a bunker in the East Prussian headquarters, risking everything in an attempt to kill his own boss. Tresckow himself, however, was still in the line of fire on the Eastern Front, which was falling back closer and closer to the Wolf's Lair every day. Prussia just hoped that that bastard Russia never got his hands on him.

A light nudge at his shoulder jerked him out of his reminiscing. Haeften indicated the end of the hallway with a nod of his head, and Gilbert followed his gaze. A group of officers was swiftly approaching, and behind the small crowd of peak caps Stauffenberg's unmistakable eye patch was visible. As the count neared, Gilbert was disturbed to see slight traces of distress on his usually stoic face. He glanced at the clock. Only a few minutes had gone by since he last checked; why was Stauffenberg here already?

He stopped by the waiting nation and lieutenant and leaned in close as the other officers passed.

"We need to act now. The briefing time is changed to 12:30. They're heading to the conference barracks," he muttered urgently.

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Is that enough time to prime them both?"

"We're about to find out."

Stauffenberg hailed a passing sergeant. "Excuse me, I need a room to change my shirt."

"_Jawohl_, _Herr Oberst_."

The three anxiously followed the sergeant as he led them to a door partway down the hall. Stauffenberg dismissed him and he left.

"_Preußen_, stand guard," ordered the colonel as he and Haeften slipped into the empty room.

Prussia swallowed as the door closed behind them. Normally he would have balked at being ordered around by any human other than his boss, but if ever there was a time to set his ego aside, this was it. They had barely more than five minutes to prime two packs of plastic explosives with the fuses and activate the acid detonators, and one of the men responsible had only three fingers. It was delicate business, placing the wires just right and crushing the ampules containing the acid without breaking their encasing. Then they would have to place the fuse in the pack of explosives so that the acid would eat through the retaining wire for the detonator bolt, which would then shoot into the center of the bomb, causing it to explode. They had calculated that the two kilos of plastic explosives would be enough to send everyone in the room to a swift death. But that was assuming they were able to arm the charges.

Gilbert tried to stand casually by the door, but his face felt much too hot, even for the heat of summer. He avoided eye contact with the few people who passed by, and they paid him no attention. But now the minutes were slipping by, by like sand in an hourglass, and he had no way of knowing how far the two men concealed in the room had gotten. They were running out of time.

The sergeant appeared back around the corner and approached the Prussian. The nation's heart beat wildly against his ribcage and worked its way into his throat as the officer stopped abruptly in front of him, a slight scowl on his face.

"Is _Herr_Stauffenberg ready yet?"

Gilbert swallowed thickly. "The man's crippled, you know, give him time."

"He's holding up the meeting," the sergeant responded tersely as he reached for the door handle.

Gilbert darted in front of his hand. "I'll check on him!" His voice was perhaps a little too high-pitched.

The sergeant arched an eyebrow as the white-haired man swiftly slipped through the door.

Stauffenberg and Haeften spun around as Gilbert entered, but breathed a sigh of relief to see it was only him. His crimson eyes were full of urgency, though.

"They've sent the sergeant for you. Is it ready?"

The colonel and the lieutenant exchanged a glance that made Prussia's stomach drop. He glanced at the table and knew before they said a word. One charge sat with detonator inserted and activated, while the other was fuse-less.

Suddenly the door behind him opened. Gilbert automatically sprung against it.

"Just one moment!" Stauffenberg shouted frantically from behind the door.

"The others are waiting," hissed the sergeant, who was blessedly unable to see around the door.

"_Ja_, _ja_, nearly finished." Stauffenberg struggled to keep the strain out of his voice.

Gilbert shut the door thankfully as he felt the pressure against the other side disappear. He leaned against it for support as his legs were suddenly trembling.

For a moment, they all simply looked at each other as the heavy silence clung to them.

Then Haeften spoke softly. "We have one explosive; we will make it count."

Stauffenberg nodded curtly and placed the armed charge back in the attaché. Prussia breathed in deeply. In less than fifteen minutes, the bomb would explode.

…

12:30

Germany stood by the map table in the conference room, frantically flipping through his files as he tried to organize his thoughts. Luckily for him his boss, standing on his left, was engaged in conversation with Field Marshal von Keitel and was not paying him any attention at the moment. But _Gott_, it was so damn hot in this room, even with all the windows open. Germany wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow.

He heard the door behind him open, and then Keitel announced, "_Herr_ Stauffenberg is here to report on the movements of the emergency deployment division, _mein Fuhrer_."

Stauffenberg came to stand next to Germany and set his briefcase down. Hitler looked at the colonel and nodded.

Then Ludwig caught sight of something blue and white moving in the corner of his eye. He turned his head and was surprised to see his brother making his way around the table. Immediately he felt an embarrassing flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. Wonderful. He had not expected Gilbert to be here, and now it was going to be that much more difficult to think straight.

As his brother came to a stop at the other side of the table, he noticed how uncharacteristically solemn his face was. How ironic that on the day Germany came unprepared (and thanks to Gilbert, no less) the Prussian seemed to be taking his responsibilities seriously, for once. He couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with last night. Ludwig's flush deepened at that idea and he dropped his gaze to the table, trying desperately to dispel thoughts of his brother's soft, white flesh from his mind. He was in the presence of the Fuhrer and twenty or so highest ranking field officers, after all!

Ludwig didn't even notice when Stauffenberg leaned over to mutter something in his other neighbor's ear and quietly left the room, leaving his briefcase at Germany's feet.

…

12:31

Prussia only took the time to glance around the room once he reached his place on the far side of the large table. He noted with dread that all the windows were open, meaning the blast would be even less magnified. One of the underground barracks would have been ideal, but the heat of July had foiled them. It could also cause the bomb to detonate earlier than expected. He would have to excuse himself soon.

He caught sight of Stauffenberg making his smooth exit. He would wait just a minute or two, so as not to raise suspicion. _Alte Fritz, please watch over me,_ he prayed silently.

And then Gilbert's heart stopped. For standing right next to Stauffenberg's abandoned spot and abandoned attaché was Ludwig.

Prussia was frozen. His muscles were frozen, his mind was frozen, even his skin felt frozen as a sickening chill ran down his spine despite the closeness of the warm air. If his brain had been functioning properly, he would have been surprised the sweat trickling down his back hadn't turned to ice crystals. It was the frigid grip of sheer terror.

Cerulean eyes sheepishly slid up to the Prussian's face, but were surprised by the fiery intensity of the returned gaze and darted away quickly, flustered.

Gilbert watched his brother in confusion for a moment, then realized what must be on the blond's mind. Oh God, oh no, what had he done…

He had not expected Ludwig to be here. But now his brother, the man with whom he had had passionate sex just the night before, stood directly in harm's way, and it was all because of Gilbert.

Hadn't Stauffenberg noticed? Didn't he care? Why would he put the bomb directly next to the nation they were supposed to be saving? The rational part of Prussia reasoned that it was as close to Hitler as it could possibly be, which was crucial given the circumstances, but mostly Prussia refused to understand. What if Germany were hurt?

But of course Germany would be hurt. He had always known that. At least in the short run, Germany would be lost without the Fuhrer. There could be chaos, there could be more violence. That was the risk everyone had decided they were willing to take in order to kill Hitler. It was for Germany's sake, they had said, causing him a little pain would be worth it.

None of them were Ludwig's brother, though, and Gilbert could feel the panic rising in his chest as he imagined the beautiful blond being blown to bits by the explosive sitting less than a foot away. This was more than a little pain. Ludwig could die, for all Gilbert knew. But what could he do? At this moment, the acid in the detonator was at work, and it was only a matter of time. There would not be another opportunity like this.

Gilbert's mind raced. If he moved the case further from Ludwig, it could only end up further from its intended target, and that was if he could even think of an excuse. Could he try to get Ludwig to leave the room? The German took meetings too seriously for that, though; Gilbert would have to practically drag him out the door, and that would be too much of a disturbance. The Fuhrer might even follow and demand his country back, and then it would be all for nothing.

The Prussian stared helplessly at his brother. Killing Hitler was best for Germany. Staying alive was also best for Germany. Gilbert wanted to stay alive, too, but each second he stood glued to the spot was a second closer to possible death.

…

12:35

Ludwig dared another glance at his brother. He was still staring. It was making it even harder to concentrate on the briefing. Why did he have to be so obvious about it? Anyone would suspect something was up if they caught sight of the albino's practically stricken face. And what was he thinking anyway? Did he regret last night too? Or was he… having fantasies? That gaze was so intense, Ludwig could almost feel it burning into his already too-hot skin…

"Ahem, _Herr Deutschland_?" A voice reached his consciousness. Germany snapped to attention, his blush deepening further. How long had they been trying to get his attention?

"Perhaps you could now comment on the division movements?" Keitel asked pointedly.

Germany glanced at his boss. Hitler appeared to be slightly peeved at his nation's unusual spaciness. Oh, _Scheiße_. _Verdammt bruder_…

Ludwig scanned the map, hoping desperately that something he could convincingly bullshit about would catch his eye. He stepped in for a closer look and stumbled over something. Glancing down, he saw Stauffenberg's attaché. He must have forgotten it, or maybe he would be returning soon with a file he had left in an office; either way, it was a silly place to leave it, so in the way. More flustered than ever, Ludwig picked up the case and moved it around the corner of the table to lean against the large wooden support, where it wouldn't be underfoot. _Gott_, it was heavy though; that Stauffenberg must be a busy man.

…

12:36

Prussia's heart stopped for the second time when Germany reached for the attaché. He held his breath as his brother moved it several feet away, to the other side of the thick table leg, then returned to his spot to start stuttering something about troop positions.

What now?

Ludwig might have just saved his life and the Fuhrer's. Or maybe not. The bomb was still closer to Germany, but it was farther than ever from Hitler, and separated by a good deal of wood.

Prussia knew he could not jeopardize the success of this operation. Everything depended on the Fuhrer's death. His friends were risking their lives, their families. Every day that Hitler continued this mad war more cities were destroyed, more innocent people were killed.

But he could not jeopardize his little brother any more easily. He could not put the one person he loved the most, whom he had raised and known intimately, in harm's way.

If he attempted to move the case, he would be endangering West. If he did nothing, he would not have technically _done_ anything to endanger the mission.

Gilbert knew he was being selfish. He knew he was being stupid. He knew that if Stauffenberg or Haeften or even Tresckow were in his place, they would not hesitate to act. He knew they were probably the better men for it, but he had never been particularly good at being good. Try as he might, Prussia always ended up putting himself before everyone else. Everyone, that is, except for West. It was why he had always been alone, except for his dear, beloved brother. It was why he chose to walk out of the conference room then and there without looking back.

…

12:38

Ludwig was disturbed by his brother's abrupt departure. The other nation had not even given an excuse. Several disapproving looks followed him on his way out, but the Prussian didn't seem to care, as always.

Was it his fault? Could Gilbert simply not stand being in the same room as him? Was he angry about the way things had turned out between them last night? Germany felt a twinge of guilt. He almost wanted to dash out after his brother, confront him, beg forgiveness of him, make love to him—anything to close the space between them.

A surge of yearning washed over him with such intensity and pain Ludwig had to squeeze his eyes shut. _Bruder, es tut mir leid_…

…

12:39

Prussia hopped into the waiting car next to Haeften. Stauffenberg glanced back from the passenger seat as if to say "what took you so long?" and the driver gave the nation a curious look in the rear-view mirror. The albino avoided their gazes.

"Drive," the count ordered.

As the car started to crawl forward Haeften leaned over to whisper in Gilbert's ear. "Is everything alright? We were worried something went wrong when you didn't come out right away."

His red eyes stared straight ahead. "Yeah, everything's fine," he lied. The young lieutenant gave his arm a quick, comforting squeeze, and Gilbert had to hold back tears of guilt. He quickly turned away to watch the passing trees as they drove a circuitous route around the inner security zone. It would take longer than Prussia wanted, but it was the only way out.

He tried to tell himself everything might be just fine. Or everything might be a disaster. He was not religious any more, but he prayed. _Kill Hitler, save Germany, kill Hitler, save Germany…_ that was what it had always been about, wasn't it? _Kill Hitler in order to save Germany, kill Hitler but oh God, please,_please_spare my brother…_ _Please, Fritz… I need you now…_

…

12:41

Germany was lost in thoughts of his brother. Then the Fuhrer was addressing him; he struggled to listen. His boss' voice, usually so full of energy, only sounded monotonous in Ludwig's ears, however, as he went on and on about various tactics and the nation had no fucking clue what he was talking about because he'd been thinking about his brother all day… When would this hellish meeting end so he could go find Gilbert? _Gilbert…_

"What do you think, _Herr Deutschland_?" the Fuhrer questioned.

Germany was a deer caught in the headlights for the second time in the past few minutes. But what half-assed answer he could conjure up no one would ever know.

At that precise instant, the world burst into flames. All at once the floor lurched, air rushed, light flashed, heat seared, all too quickly to process what had happened. Ludwig was a rag doll hurled through the air in a surreal swirl of debris and burning paper. He felt strangely as though he was separated from everything around him by a glass encasement that sound could not permeate as the room was torn apart in silence, the ringing in his ears the only evidence of the tremendous noise that must have accompanied the blast. Ludwig had no idea what was up or down, even when his body connected with a hard surface at high speed. And then pain, pain everywhere…

Ludwig was sure he was going to die, if he hadn't already.

…

12:42

Gilbert heard the blast before he saw it. It was an unearthly roar to the left of the car as they made their way back around past the barracks.

It was utter chaos. A guard was sounding the alarm at a telephone at the gate as papers fluttered through the air and smoke poured from the windows and collapsed roof. Bodies were strewn on the ground amidst the wreckage, but obscured by the smoke, it was impossible to tell whether they were alive or not, let alone identify them.

Nevertheless, Gilbert strained his eyes for a glimpse of cornsilk hair, any sign of his brother… to no avail. His stomach was twisted in a painfully tight knot. Where was West right now?

Stauffenberg was standing from his seat to survey the damage. He seemed satisfied with what he saw because he ordered the driver, "Keep going."

Prussia felt like he was about to be violently sick.

…

12:43

The pain did not let up. Every inch of Ludwig's body was wracked with unbearable stings, aches, and burns. He was suddenly aware of his surroundings despite the agony, though. Somehow he had ended up outside, pounded into the dirt. Smoke pricked his watering eyes as he attempted to lift his head and look around him. Chunks of wood and concrete were scattered among grotesque bodies and papers were beginning to settle on the ground like otherworldly snow.

Then Ludwig saw a car driving by. The image didn't make sense to him at first, it was normal. He squinted and saw a figure that looked like Stauffenberg standing in the front seat. Behind him was a shock of white hair, a gleam of red, a smudge of blue.

"…Gilbert?" he tried to say, but his jaw hurt too much and his mouth, he realized, was filled with blood and soil.

_Gilbert, help me…_ Ludwig let his head drop back down, too weak to do anything else. His whole world was nothing but pain. Darkness was closing in on the edges of his vision. His last thought before blackness engulfed him was wondering why his older brother was not jumping out of the car and running towards him.

...

Translations:

_Herr_ _Preußen:_Mr. Prussia

_Mein Herr:_ Literally-my lord, but in this case more like "sir"

_Herr Oberst:_ Mr. Colonel (respectful address for superior officer)

_Treten Sie ein:_ come in

_Heil Hitler:_ Hail Hitler (you don't really need that one translated, do you?)

_Ja/Jawohl:_yes/yes sir

_Mein Fuhrer:_ my Fuhrer

_Herr Deutschland:_ Mr. Germany

_Scheiße_. _Verdammt bruder:_shit. goddamn brother

_Bruder, es tut mir leid:_brother, I'm sorry

Historical Notes:

*Colonel Stuaffenberg: He sustained his injuries while serving in Africa. There's tons of info on him on the interwebs, so go forth and educate thyself.

*Lieutenant Scheibler: I didn't make him up. He talks about this experience in a documentary made by National Geographic.

*The Capitulation of Italy and the Salo Republic: The Allied Armistice with Italy was signed on September 3, 1943, under Marshal Pietro Badoglio, who came to power after the arrest of Mussolini by King Victor Emmaneul III. Italy's surrender was announced on September 8. German troops occupied Northern and Central Italy, and on September 12 German paratroopers liberated Mussolini. A new Nazi puppet state, the Italian Social Republic (RSI), was declared on September 23 despite Mussolini's desire to retire. The RSI took up northern Italy, with Mussolini's headquarters at Salo. Though Hitler made many demands on Italy and German forces had mostly lost respect for their Italian counterparts, the RSI was completely dependent on Germany.

*Kephalonia: The Kephalonia Massacre took place in September following the armistice. Italian troops abroad did not receive clear instructions on how to treat German forces, and after negotiations failed between German forces and the Italian Acqui Division on the Greek island of Kephalonia, battle broke out. The Italians were forced to surrender after losing over 1,000 men and running out of ammunition. On the authority of orders from Hitler and the German High Command to take no prisoners due to the Italians' "perfidious and treacherous behaviour," _Gebirgsjäger _troops began the execution of Italian prisoners on September 21. Around 5,000 Italians were killed by machine gun fire, individual detachments, and drowning over the course of the week. It was the second largest massacre of prisoners of war during WWII (the largest being the Katyn massacre of 22,000 Poles by Soviet troops) and the one of the largest-scale war crimes committed by the Wehrmacht (as opposed to the SS).

*The Red Baron: Manfred von Richtofen was a German fighter pilot during WWI, and is considered the ace-of-aces with 80 air combat victories. He was shot down and killed near Amiens in 1918.

*Fritz: Frederick II of Prussia came to the throne in 1740. He was known as the Great for a reason… yeah look him up too. Too much to summarize here. He died in 1786, at the age of 74, after a prolonged and painful illness.

*There will be more info on all those other officers next time.

*Kreisau Circle: The name given by the Gestapo to the group of German dissidents centered around the Prussian Kreisau estate of Helmuth James Graf von Moltke. Its members were mostly conservative aristocrats and gentry, but came from a variety of backgrounds, and considered themselves loyal to Germany while opposing the Nazi party. Moltke was arrested on January 19, 1944, and the circle was effectively disbanded, though several members were involved in the July 20 plot.

*One last note: While I am trying for the greatest historical accuracy possible, I have read several conflicting accounts of various events, so though this is thoroughly researched, I cannot guarantee every detail is the set-in-stone truth or that you won't encounter a different version. Sometimes I have to choose which version to go with or fudge something a little where information is scarce. I'll list a few sources with my next chapter. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

Whew, that was a lot.

PLEASE review! I will love you forever. (well, almost). I'm not so sure about this chapter, it's very different from anything I've ever written, but I put a lot of effort into it.

Depending on the type of response I get, I will either write one or two chapters of Obsession before I get around to chapter four of this. It will have more action and smut of some nature!

Thanks for reading, faving, and especially reviewing!


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